


Small Places

by TheGan



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGan/pseuds/TheGan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an incident during a mission Remy's power goes out of control. Deciding to not let his team mates know could lead to some unexpected consequences. And when an unknown enemy strikes, all the X-Men will be needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is settled way before Antarctica and even before Rogue/Gambit became a thing  
> I largely base Remy’s powers on Nicieza run  
> 

_The week before_

 

Obviously it happens when Betsy is in England to visit her family. Obviously they couldn't wait until Jean returns from her space trip. Obviously... and now the X-Men are outnumbered and fighting without a frigging telepath on their team. Typical.  
So it seems that the Onix Farmaceutic isn't a secret Pokemon factory after all, but a cover for resurrecting the Weapon X Project for the millionth time. Remy will never understands anti-mutant super villains: honestly, the Star Trek franchise handled reboots much better.  
Remy overhears the distinctive sound of a trigger going off and crouches down. The bullet pass over his head, Remy ignores it, already in motion. He extends his bo staff and hits the unlucky security guard before he could fire at him again. Someone should warn the super villains' dress company that the Eighties has long since ended, not like he is one to judge. Remy kneels down and feels the guard's clothes, checking for passes or security codes... a map would have also been nice: this building would give Daedalus an hard on. Then his eyes falls on the discarded gun and he stills. That's not a normal gun… that's a dart gun. What exactly are they shooting them with? He takes the gun between his hands and studies it. It seems that it can contain three darts at most, the last one still sitting quietly in the barrel. Remy retrieves it, securing it in one of his inner pockets. Maybe Hank will want to take a look into it. He snorts. Hank would surely want to take a look into it and maybe date it, make love to it and finally marry it in Las Vegas, like the good nerd that he is.  
“ZZzzzZ -G- ZzzZZ- Gambit do you copy?”  
Oh joy! The communicator lives! And it has Scott’s voice, why should it always have Scott’s voice? Why couldn’t it be someone he actually likes?  
“Here at your service, cher, alive and good as new. Don’t get your panties in a twist for little ol’ me”  
“ZzzzZ-G-ZzzZ-n-Zz- joke. Wh-ZzZ- you?”  
Here, have some static as the answer. Well, he’s a little underground for the communicator to work and maybe tossing it on the floor and stomping on it, could have slightly helped. Not like he has done it on purpose, trying to get past a laser net with the damned thing buzzing in one’s ears could lead to nasty incidents, after all.  
“Last I checke’ I was somewhere on the right wing of the buildin’”  
“ZZ-n’t b- ZZz- we’re on ZzZz right wing”  
“Oh, righ’. Maybe I should mention that I’m sort of, on the fourt’ level underground”  
Silence. Remy tests the communicator with his fingers, maybe it has finally died. Nope, it comes alive once again and it still has Scott’s voice. The thing hasn’t probably any survival instinct left.  
“Ther-ZzZ-more th-ZZz ne level? Our- ZZz informant didn’-ZzZz- ention it. Wha-ZzZ here”  
“Yep, very secret. I had to knock out two guards and get throug’ a really sexy alarm system. But, hey, there’re labs here, maybe you wanna take a look”  
There is more gibberish and static in his ear, then Remy is explaining the route to Khazad-dûm to their fearless leader. Fortunately Scott’s communicator seems to receive better than how it transmits. Remy wonders why… oh right, it’s his fault. They’re almost at the kiss-kiss, bye-bye part, when a grumpy voice starts to scream back at him on another frequency.  
“L-ZZ-Z-BEAU!”  
Logan. Remy winces and tries to block his left ear sense of hearing.  
“Is Jubil- ZzZZ with you?!”  
Oh shit. And it seems that the simple name is able to conjure the real thing, because in that exact moment there’s a loud bang behind Remy as a guard goes flying against the wall. Fireworks explode everywhere as Jubilee emerges from the hallway Remy has just come from, with the largest grin on her face.  
“Dude, did you see what I did, like, right now? Better pay attention to your back old man!”  
Remy wants to cry or at least sob for a little bit. Logan will have his head for this. Well, let the old man try.  
“Yep, the little firecracke’ has joined the dark side of the force and now is trying to make me her padawan. Send help”  
Logan growls something. Remy blocks it all out. It’s always the same old thing really “If something happens to her…. yadda, yadda... angry growls… I will gut ya… more angry growls with some snikts thrown in”. Scott regains control of the conversation to say that they’re on their way and to not do anything stupid in the meantime. Woah, do these people actually know him? Probably not.  
Remy sighs and finds Jubes smirking next to him.  
“How you did you get dow’ here, chere?”  
“Dude, there were something, like, four elevators”  
Oops, right. Very secret level my arse. What about his massive hacking of the alarm system and his acrobatic fight to deactivate the laser grill. Elevators...right.  
Jubes is watching him with the strangest expression on her face, it seems like she's fighting back something, but... oh the little shit!  
“You just followe’ me right?”  
Jubilee explodes. It brings a smile on his face to see her laughing like this, too bad that she's doing it at his expenses.  
“Dude, you should have seen your face! You looked like I was telling you that Santa doesn't exist or some shit”  
Remy snorts and ruffles Jubilee's short, dark hair. The teen growls angrily something very creative at him and Remy contemplates that, just maybe, Logan's influence is working its magic in a very wrong way. Not like he cares: until Jubilee’s way of speech will send Scott in a fit of outrageous rage, he will just sit in the back with popcorn.  
“Scott says we should stay put, so... wanna explore some labs?”  
Jubilee grins at him and Remy leads her to the only room he has already checked. If you cannot control, contain them. Remy internally sighs, he will just have to baby-sit until the X-Men return.

 

Scott is not pleased with him, how new. The moment he sees him, he launches into a long detailed speech about following orders and to not stray from the team to undergo little solo missions. Remy almost points out that if he hadn’t, they wouldn't have discovered this place at all, but then he meets Storm’s stern expression, and pauses. ‘Ro’s eyes simply move to Jubilee and then back at him, and Remy is forced to see the point. He’s too used at fighting alone that sometimes the full picture escapes him. He hadn’t thought about someone following him, he had thought only of the dangers that his actions could bring onto him and nothing of the consequences that could befall on another. If something had happened to Jubilee he would have been his fault.  
Scott’s seems to read something in his expression and lets go, shifting his attention to Hank’s findings. Remy tries not to meet Storm’s eyes, he doesn’t like being scolded. Hank in the background seems really engrossed into something, blabbering non stop about scientific nonsense. Remy feels tired.  
He doesn’t actually _see_ him at first. He only notices Logan’s eyes growing huge and kind of scared and that’s enough to scare someone like him in return. And then, _then_ , he sees the guard that Jubilee knocked out before, not so much in Dreaming Land right now, making his way in their direction, something pointed against the teen’s back.  
Like for most of his life changing decisions, Remy acts without thinking. He leaps and grabs Jubilee’s startled shoulder and pulls, putting his body in the line of fire. Remy feels something sharp pierce his right shoulder, and crumbles to the ground. The guard has not the time to load another bullet that three metal claws get acquainted with his chest. Good. Remy’s hand closes around the thing protruding from his shoulder. Dart gun. They shoot him with a damned dart gun. Jubilee is right on his face, wearing the most worried expressions he has ever seen on her face, Remy smiles and begins to stand. Then it hits him. The sensation is so sudden that it finds him unprepared. He’s on fire. Every single nerve of his body is being filled with hot lava as his head falls on the ground and Remy begins to scream.

 

He wakes up mid fly on the Black Birds at the sound of Hank and Logan animated discussion. God, his head is killing him.  
“What a Cajun should do fo’ some pain killers?”  
That seems to put a stop to any conversations. Woah, cool. Wait a minute is that Rogue looking miserable in the back? So, who is holding his hand? Is Jubilee sobbing?  
Then he meets Storm’s tears stricken face and Remy begins to seriously worry. Hank seems to be the first to regain his shits, good, because Remy was quickly starting to lose his.  
“Remy your heart had stopped. You had been dead for half an hour”  
THE FUCK?! He looks at Hank uncomprehending, the information slowly sinking in. The fuck?!  
"Oh... I see..."  
No, he doesn't _see_. So that's why everyone is looking like someone has died, only that it’s him and he's surely not dead. Ok, cool. No, not cool, but, hey, seems like not the time to lose it, right?  
"Am I a zombie?"  
Hank smiles and just like that the cloud of grief and gloom lifts from the jet.  
"Most certainly not my Acadian friend"  
And that's when the hugging starts.  
"Oh my God, Remy I'm so sorry!!!"  
Jubilee has launched herself on top of him and it looks like she's trying to squeeze the life out of him. Off.. and OUCH! Someone is pinching his ear.  
"Do not even try to scare me like that again, it’s clear?!"  
Stormy looks relieved and murderous and, all in all, scary as hell.  
"Glad to see you well, sugah"  
And here she is. The southern bell trying to look tough with a smile on her face and a napkin in his hand. Remy responds to her smile with one of his own. Woah, it feels good to be missed. Maybe he should try the dying thing more often.  
Logan is looking at him with the most peculiar expression. Remy looks at him quizzically and he turns away. Strange.  
"I'll give Scott the heads up about little dead-boy over here, Rogue stop making doe eyes at him: we could use a second pilot for this flying trap, you know"  
Rogue scowls in his general direction, then she winks at Remy and follows Logan out.  
Hanks is prodding his shoulder, weaving instruments that seems to come right from a Star Trek's episode.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"Strangely good for bein' dead"  
Hank smiles and slaps Remy's hands away from the equipment. It wasn't his fault: it looked interesting, and shiny. Remy pouts.  
"Well excep' fo' my head. Don't you have any of your shiny pills to give me?"  
Hank seems to not listen to a word he says, too engrossed on his machine's readings. Still, between a "Fascinating!" and a "Starts and garters!", he finds the time to pass him something to relieve his head from the sudden aching tension.  
After a minute or two, most to Jubes and Storm's relief, Hank declares Remy good to go. Maybe they will never discover what they have shot him with, but it seems that it hadn't done its job so well. Remy passes his tongue on his teeth and stills. No, wait a moment. There is something very wrong here.  
“Hey, is it possible for a wisdom toot’ to grow back?”

 

Obviously Hank doesn’t let him go that easily. When they return to the X-Mansion he all but locks him up in the Med Bay to run all sorts of experiments at his expenses.  
Remy doesn’t see why all the fuss. It’s not like the X-Men don’t bounce back from the dead at least once a week. Yes, he had been dead for half an hour before his miraculous resurrection, but, hey, he isn’t a zombie or an evil version of himself from an alternative reality. Brains doesn’t hold any appeal to him and he still thinks that Scott is an idiot, so Remy thinks that Hank should take his worries down a notch.  
There is a needle going crazy right under his nose, little lights go off and on at random times. The machine sneezes and buzzes like it's full of bees.  
"Is that a tricoder?"  
Hank doesn't bother with an answer, maybe because is the fifth time that he has asked the same question since the examination has started. Man, he's bored. He played the human dartboard thinking of lesser consequences: like dying. Becoming Hank’s personal lab rat is a little over the top.  
"Is it normal fo' the red ligh' to make that sound?"  
Hank sighs and probably starts to wonder why he has chosen the medical profession, and if it's unethical to strangle a patience. Or inject him with a massive dose of aesthetics.  
“It appears that the content of our treacherously little friend over there was something akin a synthesized cellular reconstruction serum”  
Remy looks utterly bored back at him. Hank elaborates.  
“They shoot you with an healing factor formula”  
“And I’m the only one here that thinks that it doesn’t make a iota of sense?”  
Hank smiles, looking kind of excited. Oh good Lord, why him?  
“Au countrair my Acadian friend, the formula used is quite ingeniously meant to overdose the normal capacity of our body’s cellular reconstruction. As you surely know, our cells are subjected to a continuous recycle. In simpler words, they die and are replaced by newer ones. But it’s not all: it’s theorized that our body can keep this process on a limited number of times defined by our own DNA! So that everyone has written in his genes the day of their death. Quite fascinating don’t you think?”  
Remy is yawning and hoping that Hank will get to the point in the next hour or so.  
“As you see the formula used over here is meant to push the body at its limit, forcing the normal cell recycle to a foolishly fast pace. In less than a few seconds your body will be overwhelmed and spontaneously combust.”  
Ok, that actually makes sense. Only when it doesn’t.  
“And since I’m still my dashin’ breathin’ self, I suppose that tha’ thin’ hasn’t worked so well, neh”  
Hank sighs, like he’s sorry for every poor excuse of scientist in the world.  
“Well, you would have been right. I suppose that the formula was still on an experimental phase and that your enhanced metabolism interfered somehow with its course. This kind of explosive cocktail sent your genes to overdose and put your body to such a strain, to force the vital functions to an alarming stop. Luckily for all of us, it was temporary and for once the consequences of this little endeavour seems to be only beneficial ones”  
Remy huffs. Yes, he knows all about those beneficial consequences of Hank, doesn’t he? Once that they were assured that, yes, his two wisdom teeth have grown back, Hank has put Remy through all sort of tests in which they discovered that not only practically every scar on his body had been magicked away, but every trace of his surgeries too. Remy is still unsure about how he should feel on this one.  
The one thing that hadn’t changed since he had woken in the jet is his headache. Remy thinks that it’s actually got worse. Hank at first was quite fascinated with it, but he had quickly lost interest when Remy produced to him the spare dart that he had managed to snatch away from the unconscious guard. After being forced in the Med Bay for the last four days and soon to be discharged, mentioning the headache was the farthest thing on Remy’s mind. Scott had inquired the day before if Remy could be cleared for active duty and he and Hank had had some pretty epic smackdown at his expenses.  
Honestly, he’s just the same old Remy. Only with less scars and the bouncy energy of a teen. Nothing alarming or new.  
His fingers buzzes and the table is sitting on starts to shine the brightest shade of pink. Remy quickly retires the charge, cursing to himself and hoping that Hank hasn’t seen anything. Luckily the furry scientist is still too engrossed on the readings of his damned machines to notice what’s happening right under his nose.  
Remy breaths out in relief and fights back a sinking sensation in his guts. It’s the third time that something like this has happened in the last few days and the loss of control has increasingly become bigger and harder to reabsorb. Hank has noticed only the second one, but he imputed it at his patient's lessening patience. Remy had known better. Hank’s readings say that his appendix has grown back, so what’s preventing other parts to grow back too. Maybe a certain part of his brain. Maybe a certain part of his brain that had been removed a long time ago by a man Remy prefers not to think about.  
Hank interrupts his line of thought with a loud groan. The doctor is pinching the tops of his nose and wearing a tired expression. Remy could see it as clear as the day: Hank is going to cave in.  
“Remy are you sure you feel positively well?”  
Remy is quick to nod. A little too quick maybe, because Hanks sighs again and plants a pair of severe eyes on his face.  
“Are you sure? Because after you leave I will clear you for active duty and inform Scott about it. If you still feel ill, or somehow affected by your little endeavour, and you lie about it now, you will put your team mates at an high risk in the impending future.”  
Remy meets Hank’s stern gaze, puts on an easy smile and lies through his teeth.  
“Honestly, Hank. I feel jus’ peachy”

 

 

_Today_

 

He had always been in tune with his body. There are things now, things that scratches and stretches, that makes his hands dumb and his ears bleed. His stomach clenches as if it's trying to squeeze the sickness out of his eyes and mouth. His head is pounding and he can feel the coppery taste of blood on his lips.  
Somebody is knocking at the door like a bulldozer on a demolition ground. It's probably Logan or Rogue, since Hank would be more polite and Storm would simply pick the lock.  
He breaths deeply in and he makes an half-assed attempt to shake some distress out of his face. He opens the door before his guest could test further the solidity.  
"Hello cher"  
Remy silently thanks for Logan's surly face. He may not be able to talk his way out, but the grumpy Canadian would not pry. Not like Rogue.  
As predicted, Logan gives him an appraising stare and grunts, a silent offer in his eyes: wanna talk about it? Remy shrugs it off with an easiness born from practice and Logan backs off.  
"Danger Room session in an hour, gumbo"  
Remy fakes a yawn and closes the door on the other’s face. There will be no love lost between the two of them. He rests his back against the wood and listens as the heavy footsteps of his team mate reach the door next and stop. Remy runs an hand through his hair, the surly taste of bile still tightly lodged in his throat. He closes his eyes, counts to ten and goes to take a shower. There aren't many things that hot water can't wash out. Things like the panicked smell of real-life nightmares that brought Logan on his door, are no match for it. But the man under the hot stream wavers and puts an hand against the shower stall for balance, he's tired. His fingertips flash bright pink for a second. Remy gulps and the charge reabsorbs living behind the scarred texture of abused flesh. He can't let anyone see him like this. He turns off the water and puts on his uniform, his best smirk and he's out.

 

Remy takes the longest way to the Danger Room to arrive with his usual lateness. Scott scowls at him and goes on with the explaining, while the others largely ignore him, used to his antics. Logan gives him an appraising glare and Remy shrugs it off with his best poker face. Like before the Canadian doesn't pry and returns to not-quite-paying-attention to their fearless leader. One day, Remy thinks, these two will end up fucking their problems away... or kill each other. Maybe both.  
He winks at Rogue when he feels her beautiful eyes land on him, she simultaneously blushes and scowls. It may be a record. From the lack of cheerful complaints and high-pitched noises, he deduces that Jubilee is still banished from active duty. Remy is secretly grateful for it, Jubes can be strangely observant about people and he's not sure that he can muster enough energy to fool the bubbly teenager this morning. Still, he thinks that Scott should get his head out of his ass and let her return to the trainings. Onix Labs had been a close call, but she had come out of it unscathed and withholding team activity from a teen was like starving a feral tiger: there will be consequences.  
Scott is muttering something about team work and releasing pent up stress, Remy yawns and stop listening. Doctor, heal thyself. If someone could use a back rub and a good fuck that would be Summers, the stick up his ass was so tightly lodged in place to make even a little bit of bending impossible.  
Something like “I was watching yesterday on tv yadda, yadda, ya…” is being pompously announced by a monotone voice, Remy goes for the cards hidden in his pocket with the intention to make the biggest cards castle human 's eyes have ever seen, then he overhears Scott saying “Godzilla". Cards fall everywhere and Remy could not care less.

 

Lasers are cutting the air as the armies of the undead marches on. The city is a carcass of bent metal and glasses spikes. Screeches of unholy creatures fend the air as they announce their Overlord's arrival. Every step is a trap that promises a long excruciating death. Remy thinks that this time Scott has outdone himself.  
Scott divided them in three teams, but as soon as the simulation had kicked in, they had been on their own. The ionized air makes communication via radio impossible and, without a telepath on the team, they could only rely on eyes and screams to communicate with each other. Still the X-Men move as a one man... with a negligible exception: because when the X-Men fight, they fight to overcome impossible odds. When Remy fights, he dances. There is really no other way to explain the carefree recklessness of a choreography that seems too planned to be random. He strikes the zombies with deadly precision; the holograms shriek and explode their cybernetic brain-matter all around. It's exhilarating. He should properly thank Scott later, but sticking his tongue down their fearless leader’s throat may not be appreciated. Too bad. Remy easily dodges an attack from behind and sends back some charged cards as a consolation prize. The frizzle sends spikes of pain along his arm and the explosion is a little too big than what he had estimated. Guess his powers are big no, no then. Remy looks up just in time to see Rogue fending off a pterodactyl with her bare hands and...wow... that was actually pretty cool. The things that those hands could do, it's him or the air is becoming a little too hot?  
It's not him.  
An hiss from somewhere on his right and the bastard of Ultron and Terminator emerges from the ground. What the hell was Scott watching yesterday on cable?  
The robot's hands are glowing red, promising some nasty energy beams. Remy smirks and waits until the last second to jump.  
When Remy fights, he dances, so he comes as a surprise when the headache sets in, making him falter and crash on the ground. The left ankle twists uncomfortably under the pressure and bends in an awkward angle. Remy bites down a scream. He really should not stay here. Think and move. He could feel the charge sliding down his bones, finding a way through his muscles, begging to be released. NO. Not now. No where everyone could be watching. He will not allow it.  
And the charge answers his master and stalls, receding deeply into his body in little whispering tendrils of pain. Remy has barely the time to be relieved and then iron cold hands close down on his throat and squeeze. Fuck.  
Remy kicks the robot hard, fighting the instinct to use his powers to break free. The bastard doesn't budge a millimetre. He can feel himself choking on air, his vision starting to blur and he wonders why the fuck the Danger Room's safety systems aren't kicking in. Or when his team mates will deliberate that, no, this time is not faking it. Like he's that desperate. Maybe once or twice…  
Remy had learned at a very young age to not count on anybody's help for his prolonged survival, still the screeches of metal on metal as Logan's claws dismembers the android holding him hostage are a most welcome sound.  
Remy falls on the pavement hard, all around him the simulation comes at an abrupt stop, Godzilla stuck in mid-air where Rogue has thrown it. Talking about over-reactions...  
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, GUMBO?!"  
And then Logan is manhandling him against the nearest wall, how predictable.  
"Me bein’ strangled?!"  
If it's possible Logan's eyebrows furrows further down, a vein on his forehead is reading itself to explode. Remy thinks that Logan is very lucky to have a healing factor, because with a temper like that he should have already died of stroke. A witty retort dies on his mouth as Logan's next three words register.  
"Retire the charge!"  
And suddenly the background sets in and Remy remembers how utter betrayal tastes like. The wall against his back, the pavement behind his feet, the metallic carcass of the robot are glowing the darkest shade of pink. From his hands slight tendrils of energy run through matter and living flesh alike, bulging like veins in a sick body. Half of the Danger Room’s simulation is covered by it. Scott’s uniform is swarming in pink and he probably looks worried under his visor. Remy supposes that Stormy is floating somewhere above his head, caught between wanting to help and the necessity to not spook him. He feels sick.  
Logan hands are squeezing on his shoulders a little too hard. Logan’s screaming something, at least Remy thinks that he is, but he feels so tired and concentrating is hard. He calls for the charge, the charge doesn’t listen. Logan is screaming something, Remy doesn’t listen. He orders the charge and the charge wavers and screams. Fuck it. Remy screams back and he could feel something ripping inside him as his body reabsorbs energy that it’s not supposed to contain. His eyelids grow heavy, in the back Scott is in his blue spandex again. Good, pink is most definitively not his colour. There is more screaming in the general background, and louder against his ears. Remy doesn’t care, he’s going to pass out. He lets his body grow slack against the wall as the grip around his shoulder becomes more firm. Remy closes his eyes wondering why he has not heard Logan’s claws unsheathe and then there’s nothing.

 

He wakes up later in the infirmary with a tube in his nose, I.V. stuck in his right harm and security belts restraining him to the bed. A machine is bleeping somewhere on his left, spikes of life going up and down the monitor with uneasy steadiness.  
There may be other people in the Medical Bay, but for now Remy is alone. He closes his eyes and tries to block the reality out for another minute. He fucked up. Remy scoffs. Like that’s something new… but this time he fucked up big time.  
How much time has passed? Its inner clock isn’t exactly reliable at the current moment.  
What are the other X-Men thinking of this? Has someone linked the dots and started to see the full picture? Now that he’s awake the questioning will wait no further to start.  
First thing first. It takes all but a second to Remy to free his hands and ankles, the belts are pretty loose after all, probably set in place to prevent him from hurting himself while unconscious, than to restrain him. Good. Remy falls back on the bed, presses a hand to his eyes and squeezes until all he can see are little dots of light in his inner eyelids. What now?  
Hank has probably run all sorts of tests like the good mad scientist that he is and discovered why his powers are going loco on him: that after all that serum has done a little more then growing back a tooth and erasing some scars. Remy wonders if a CAT scan will show the empty hole digging inside him or the stitches firmly sewed in his brain.  
Some scars are what makes him the man that he is, some scars are what keeps him alive. He’s never asked for a clean slate, only for a chance to keep writing his story, and now he’s thrown back in the pit and the knowledge of the price necessary to get him out is making him sick. There are people screaming in his mind, everyday, drenched in blood, crying for help, asking not to die. There are slaughtered bodies in the sewers and Remy knows that it happened because of him, because he was stupid and afraid.  
He opens his eyes to find a resolution on the white ceiling: the X-Men would never know.  
It’s painfully taxing to stand up, his mind goes black for a second and every sounds become a muffled echo. Remy wonders what kind of drugs Hank has injected him with. Probably the good stuff.  
His legs are shaking and he’s forced to reach for the wall to support himself. He breaths deeply in, waiting for his mind to clear and his body to readjust. There is probably some sort of alarm system in here to warn Hank if one of his patient has taken off his I.V. and he’s currently trying to escape his loving care. Well… at least Remy thinks that with patients like Logan, Scott or himself, there should be.  
He exhales a long tired breath and closes his right hand in a fist. He feels better now, time to move. Remy finds his discarded clothes, bo staff and all the jazz in the room’s closet. He tries for the door and finds it unlocked, good sign. Making his way along the hallway he even spots a clock that informs him that it’s ten to midnight of the same day. Remy smiles, the perfect time for a thief to make his move.  
But what move? Sure, staying here is a no no, but what about leaving? Happily travelling around without a care in the world, has not exactly worked well the first time around. Even if his prolonged survival is the foremost thing on his mind, Remy doesn’t think he can handle more innocent blood on his hands. Especially if there’s a way to avoid it.  
He stops and slowly, oh, so slowly, turns back and starts to run. He doesn’t have much time and there is a thing in the labs. A thing that they’ve obtained not so long ago in Genosha. A thing that’s someone wished to destroy and Hank, bless him, has taken for himself in the name of science. A thing that Remy, now, desperately needs.

 

It’s five in the morning and there are two miles between Remy and the School. He rests his head against the motorbike’s handlebars and lets the night wash over him. Remy’s smile turns into a tired laugh. It had been ridiculously easy, it seems that they trusted him after all. Stormy will be so pissed at him when she’ll wake up.  
The thought sobers him, the laughter dies in his throat. Guess, he couldn’t help it. She will forgive him one day… probably.  
Remy closes his eyes, the wind is not as strong as before and the temperature is particularly nice. Maybe he should go back. He runs his thumb along the cold metal around his neck and sighs. The Genosha’s collar sure does his work, but it’s a little too flashy even for a man who likes to dress in bright pink.  
After another long second of silent contemplating, Remy restarts the engine and dives into the night.

 

 

_Three weeks later, Alabama City_

 

There is this thing about small places: it's way too easy to fill them up. Remy is loud, pretty and screams too much of problems to pass under the radar. So he goes to the "Demon's den" instead, one of those private fancy club where the music is loud and it's better to not sit down on the couches.  
There is this thing about big places: they’re claustrophobic. Remy is swallowed by people too lost in their own lives to care, they press their bodies on the dance floor in a parody of closeness and it's like a drug that makes him numb and smile more openly.  
Till he sees Logan or better: till Logan bumps against him.  
"Having fun, gumbo?"  
Fun is probably the farthest thing of what he's feeling right now. Remy smirks and presses close, masking the uneasiness with inborn charm.  
"Whoa, bounjour cher, were you already missin' this old Cajun?"  
He all but whispers against Logan's ear. Remy feels an odd sense of drunk exhilaration when Logan's cheeks turn a shade darker under the bright club lights. This is something he can work with.  
"Quit with the fucking around, gumbo. You know damn well why I'm here"  
"Were you plannin’ to drag me back to the X-Men kickin’ and screamin’?"  
Remy draws close, they're on a dance floor after all. Wait, that actually sounds like an idea. Remy swings his left hand behind Logan's neck, positioning the other on his hips. It may be a little suicidal on his part, but he doesn't care: they're on a dance floor, so they're gonna dance. It's only logical. The fact that Logan mirrors his movements and goes along with it, surprises him, but only a little.  
"More or less..."  
The music is a cacophonic monstrosity and they're dancing a lento under the artificial light.  
"Are you that desperate to make me scream, chere? 'Cause this Cajun can think of plenty of ways that don't strictly involve a team effort"  
Logan misses a step. Remy smirks. He doesn't even care about Logan that much, but he's there and it's fun and Remy tonight wants to forget himself. It's probably a cruel thing to do, but he's never pegged himself as just man. He leans down to whisper against the shorter man's ear.  
"This Cajun thinks that you could put dow' a very convincing argument"  
The bodies of lost people are pressing in, squeezing out priorities and disagreements, leaving only a reckless lust. Remy is being dragged down by strong hands and he could not care less about who's kissing him right now. He wants for the whole thinking to stop, so he takes Logan by the hand, out of the dance floor and in his hotel room, offering what was not asked and taking what he needs, by a willing end.

 

They don't make past the bedroom. Just as Remy closes the door, Logan presses against him. Remy grunts and falls back against the thin wood. He searches the other's mouth for a kiss and Logan hooks his finger on the collar around his neck.  
"Fancy thing you have here, bub"  
Remy smirks and pulls Logan up by his lapels.  
"Yeah, haven't you see ' _Pimp my Genoshian Collar_ ’ ? It's a classic!"  
Logan growls into the forced kiss, then he’s grabbing Remy by the shoulders, reversing their position, and shoving him away. Remy’s legs meet the couch and the Cajun falls on it ass first.  
“Off…”  
Logan doesn’t waste a second with talking and pins him down by his wrists. It’s kinda uncomfortable, really, because Logan is stocky and short and Remy legs are dangling down the couch.  
“Piss off, s’il vous plaît”  
Logan’s face is right over his, Remy could feel the other’s even breathing inches away from his lips. Logan is not even slightly worked up by their current situation and that’s pissing Remy off. The Canadian’s scowl is reaching alarming levels.  
“You nearly blew up the Danger Room, went Sleeping Beauty on us, stole classified goods and vanished. What the fuck did ya expected?”  
Remy smirks. “From you? Honestly more snikts and less chit-chat”  
And here the snikt comes, adamantium claws and all the jazz ruining one fine piece of furniture. Pity, he could forget getting his security deposit back now. Not like he used his money to pay for it, still he would have been nice to leave a room intact for once.  
“Now you tell me exactly what’s happening and who did you let put his paws on an anti-mutant classified device or I will gut ya… quit with the fucking around!”  
Remy smiles languid, lifting up his hips to meet Logan’s pelvis.  
“And here I thought that I was just gonna start it”  
Logan’s breath breaks, Remy smirks: despite the grumpy façade, someone down here is having fun. Too bad. Remy lunges, using all his upper body strength to dislodge the heavier mutant. Logan’s face contorts in surprise as the grumpy mutant falls down on the floor. In any other circumstances it would have been hilarious, but now Remy would not have any of it. It takes only a second to Logan to regain his footing and in that second Remy is on him, securing him on the ground pretty much like Logan did with him before.  
“Now ya listen to me very carefully. Ya people don’t own a flyin’ fuck out of me. This? It’s for personal use only and whatever you think abou’ me, I’m not nearly as stupid as you seem to thin’. I didn’t let anyone that I don’t trust near it and I think that I’ve put my neck on the choppin’ block for ya hippy folks enoug’ times to earn me at leas’ a measure of doubt”  
Logan stills under him and studies his face for a long moment. Remy holds on eyes that strip him naked reaching for his very soul, and smirks. Logan seems to reach his own conclusion and breaks eye contact, body visibly relaxing. At least some part of it.  
“Get the fuck off me, LeBeau”  
Logan makes an half assed attempt to dislodge him. Remy doesn’t have any of it and secures his hold using his legs to prevent Logan to gain any leverage.  
“Desolé cher, what were you saying?”  
Logan grunts and thrashes against him. He’s stronger and more heavily built than Remy is, and it will probably be a matter of seconds before he frees himself. So Remy smiles and leans down to whisper against Logan’s lips.  
“Now… where were we?”  
Kissing the fight out of someone isn’t something Remy is uncommon to, still seeing 300 pounds of feral mutant going weak against his lips it’s kind of exhilarating. Remy quietly removes his hold on the other’s wrists and lets Logan sets his hands on his hips to gain a better leverage. Remy fully realizes that they are moving when his back bumps against the couch and he finds Logan practically in his lap still busy sucking off his face.  
Guess Logan really likes him, neh? Who would have thought. Well, not that Remy could blame him for it, he’s pretty irresistible, after all.  
While all of these is good and legit, Remy doesn’t think that his back will agree with him tomorrow morning. With a sigh he gives Logan’s shoulders a little push, breaking the kiss and leaving the other staring quizzically at his mouth.  
“Let’s move this somewhere more comfortable, neh”  
Logan’s pupils are dilated and his breath comes in short puffy gasps, but all in all seems to still have his shit together. Too bad, Remy’s gonna make up for it pretty soon. They stand up on legs a little too shaky and before some awkwardness could filter in and ruin the mood, Remy leans down and pinches Logan’s butt.  
“Race you to the bed!”  
And he springs off, before Logan could react. Reaction that occurs less than a second later, when the grumpy man jumps at him, making Remy sink in the mattress and laugh like the mad man that he is.  
“Gotcha, gumbo”  
Logan smirks more at ease with the sudden levity, than with trying to pry information out of him. Guess it’s a thing that happens when the person you threaten is someone you’ve shed blood with no more than a month ago.  
“Keep on dreamin’, cher. I got here first, so I won”  
Logan snorts and takes off his shirt.  
“That challenge seemed a little too rigged to me”  
Remy smiles and wriggles his way out from the other’s hold to discard boots and socks.  
“Ah, cher, you wound me right here”  
Logan grunts something about how there’s barely anything to hurt under all that ego and starts to undo his combat boots. Remy smirks and stands up, depositing his folded trench over the chair, after retrieving from it some vital equipment.  
Logan, down on his brief, eyes wearily his return.  
“Don’t need the condom, bub”  
Remy sits down on the bed, looking unimpressed.  
“I guess that it means that you wanna bottom, because your healing factor will sure come in handy with an urinary tract infection”  
Logan blushes and takes the lube and the condom. Good boy. Remy reaches for him and gives him a little peck on the lips as reward.  
“Need an help with those boxers, cher? They seem pretty uncomfortable”  
Remy’s right hand teases the elastic band, before sliding in the stretched garment, making Logan groan and grasp his shoulder.  
“Your idea of help is kinda peculiar, you know gumbo”  
Remy smirks and kneels between Logan’s legs. Logan quickly takes the hint and lifts his hips to remove the intruding piece of clothing. Remy kisses his way down his navel, paying particular attention to the flesh where the leg meets the groin and ignoring completely Logan’s dick. Surprise, surprise: Logan is not happy with it.  
“Fuck Lebeau, just do it”  
Tsk, tsk Logan… always hasty. Remy licks his way from the tip to the balls and complies. Logan groans and tilts his head back against the headboard. Remy takes in the whole of Logan’s length and starts wobbling in and out. There is some creative cursing going around the air as Remy swallows and bring his fingers up to tease one of Logan’s balls. Going down on a man is a very different beast compared to going down on a woman and it’s been a while since last time. Fortunately Logan doesn’t appear to have impressively high standards and Remy is good at covering lack of practice with enthusiasm. Then something heavy grabs on his hair and tries to keep him still. Well, it’s been long, but not long enough for Remy to not recognise the weight of a hand settling down on his head. Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you Logan? He swallows, Logan groans and softens his hold and Remy takes advantage of it to pull out and bite down on Logan’s inner thigh. Let’s say that Logan isn’t exactly pleased.  
“The fuck?!”  
“Well cher, I hope that you didn’t expect to be blown and forget about little ol’ me.”  
Remy stands up and removes his pants and shirt. “There’re at least two people when it comes to sex, just so that you know”  
Logan growls, reaches for the lube and starts coating his fingers with it.  
“How about you shut your mouth and move your ass over here”  
Remy sighs and finds his way back. How could anyone resist to such an hearth melting call. He positions himself between Logan’s sprawled legs half sitting, putting his weight on his knees. The mattress sinks softly and Remy rests his head on the hollow between Logan’s neck and shoulder, letting the other’s fingers tease the outline of his entrance.  
After Remy’s stunt from before, Logan isn’t exactly gentle. Remy wills his body to relax, but he could not help a shiver from travelling along his spine at the sudden intrusion.  
Logan prepares him with clumsy focused urgency, and after a while they’re changing position and Remy is leaning down on his back, bent legs hooked up Logan’s shoulders. Logan slides the condom in and stills, waiting for Remy’s authorization.  
Remy doesn’t keep him waiting long and thrust his hips up trying to get some damn friction.  
“Are you waitin’ for a written permission, homme?”  
That’s all the encouragement that Logan needs to grab Remy’s hips and trust in him in one sleek motion. Remy fights back a yelp and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to adjust to the sudden pressure. So much for the foreplay! That had freaking hurt. Logan doesn’t waste much time to let him settle down and starts to forcefully move in and out. It’s kinda painful at first, but Remy doesn’t care and after the pleasure settles in, he loses himself to the sensations.  
You cannot be in control of your life. People refuse to acknowledge this and look at others as a chance to gain some measure of control back. They are bound to fail: you cannot entrust such a basic function to another and don’t expect a serious backlash. It's such a silly thing that it is appealing how many fail to grasp this. And among this multitude there’s him. Remy tells himself that he's being stupid, even as Logan changes his grip on his hips and pounds into him harder. Remy's mind goes blank for a blessed couple of seconds, then the force of the habit sets in and Remy is grinding back, meeting eagerly Logan's thrusts. His body is taking over, focused simply on release. Logan grunts and stills his actions. Remy will not have any of it, he bites down on Logan’s forearm hard, making his displeasure known.  
"Stop being so damn pushy, gumbo"  
Usually, Remy is a very patient and attentive lover, but today he's not here for pleasure alone. He tightens the hold of his legs over Logan’s shoulders and abruptly shoves him to the right. Logan loses balance, Remy takes advantage of the momentum to use once again his upper body’s strength to reverse their position. Then he smirks down on a startled Logan.  
“Caught ya”  
There is something endearing in Logan's shocked expression, so Remy bends down and kisses him. Logan freezes and then he’s seizing Remy's shoulder, returning the kiss with a newborn gentleness, discordant to his previous actions. It's a long, sloppy, sweet kiss that leaves them both panting. Their eyes meet and Remy is suddenly aware of the beads of sweat on his face and the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Logan smiles a strange gentle little thing, and moves his hair out of his eyes and over his left ear. Something in the air has changed. He lets Logan's hands guide him back down on the mattress, but the older man doesn’t pick up where he left, choosing instead to take his time to explore Remy’s body with relaxed fascination.  
Another open-mouthed kiss is followed by smaller countless others that leave a trail of redness on his chest. It feels good. Good enough to make Remy feel uneasy.  
“You don’t hav’ to pretend that it’s more than what it is”  
Logan stills and looks up. “And what is it, exactly?”  
Remy smirks and leans over Logan’s lips. “Releasing pent up stress”  
Logan stares at him studying his face, then, as if reaching to some kind of conclusion, kisses him. And it’s sweet and reassuring and Remy kinda hates Logan a little for it and for how it’s making him feel. He didn’t bring Logan here looking for love and comprehension. He wanted to get lost, not to be found. He grabs Logan by the air, forcing their eyes to meet, trying to convey without words what he needs. And Logan, bless him, understands, bends down to kiss him one last time, lifts Remy’s hips and finds his way inside him again.  
This time it doesn’t hurt, not in a conventional sense anyway. It’s painfully slow and a little too good for a simple fuck. It tastes a little too much like making love. Remy shakes his head and puts a stop to any traitors' thoughts. He should simply enjoy the ride while it lasts. Remy lifts his hips up meeting Logan’s thrusts, their eyes meet and they smirk at each other. Sex should always be fun. It doesn’t take long to Logan’s pace to speed up until it loses any lasting resemblance to a rhythm. They’re both panting, moving with a single purpose. Logan is close, Remy smiles and clenches around him, making his eyes roll over. Guess he has won again. And then Logan’s right hand slips between their bodies, reaching for his cock and Remy lets out an undignified yelp. Logan smirks, the bastard.  
“Ya’re playin’ dirty”  
Logan’s grin gets, if possible, wider as he starts moving his hand up and down, making Remy shiver and come undone under him. Fuck the old man’s stamina, like he’s gonna give him the satisfaction of coming first.  
Remy’s hands fly to Logan’s hips forcing him to a quicker pace. Logan grunts and abandons his efforts on the other’s erection. Remy smirks and moves on for a deep kiss just as he clenches around Logan, making the other man double over and finally come hard inside him. These are his kind of satisfactions.  
Remy has barely the time to celebrate his victory, because then Logan exchanges his spent penis with three fingers, using the other hand to return his previous ministrations to Remy’s cock. He takes all but a minute to Remy to join him, coming with a strangled moan and making a mess of the already abused sheets. Logan smiles at him and leans down for a kiss. Remy returns it and lets his mind succumb to sleep. For a few hours at least.

 

"Did ya feel responsible?"  
Logan on the bed squints an half fucked eye at him. Remy is sitting on the bed’s edge with a faraway look on his face. After a couple of seconds and without any answers coming, he turns to face Logan and elaborates.  
"You went checkin' on me because I've taken that bullet mean' for Jubes"  
Logan stares at him a little longer, something heavy chases the drowsiness out of his face.  
"Yeah"  
That wasn't a question. Remy smiles and finds his way back under the cheap covers, he suddenly feels very tired.  
Logan’s arms find him and draw him close. Remy sighs and rests his head on the other’s chest. He can probably fall asleep like this, lulled by the beating of someone else's heart.  
"Doesn't mean that I regret it"  
Remy freezes, as if feeling the sudden spike of uneasiness a large hand starts to rub small circles on his scalp. Remy fights the irrational desire to see Logan's face.  
"If you’ll let your defences down for a damn minute, you will discover that people actually care, gumbo"  
Remy closes his eyes, it would have been so nice to fall asleep here, but Logan had to ruin it with talking. He smiles.  
"My defences are the only thin' that keeps me alive, mon coeur"  
Logan moves and Remy lets himself being moved until they're staring at each other's eyes.  
"They're fucking not, gumbo, and you know it. They only make you damn miserable"  
There is something else there, a promise maybe, and a sense of understanding that runs deep in flesh and bones. What's undeniably there, is one request: please, trust me.  
And it breaks Remy’s heart a little that he can't. He's tired of falling in love, in the end there is no one to catch him. Remy smiles and drops his head on the pillow.  
"Didn't pledge ya for the 'yay teamwork!' type"  
Logan looks down on him with a little tired smile.  
"Wolves are pack animals, didn't ya know?"  
Remy smirks and moves his head back on the other’s chest. "Makes sense"  
They rest like this for a while, the sun fights against the thick curtains for a way in. Remy feels the feeling of content that follows a good fuck settling in. Logan is watching some probably interesting spot on the fabric, while gently rubbing a tired hand between Remy's hairs, rearranging lose strands. So... Logan is a cuddler, he can get behind that.  
"Your powers..."  
Remy stirs a little, but ultimately he doesn't move. Logan doesn't look a him, lost in his own train of thoughts.  
"What have you done the first time that they went out of control?"  
Remy smiles with closed eyes. You can accuse Logan of many things, stupidity isn't one of them. Remy sighs, silently weighing pros and cons and discovering that for once he doesn’t have the strength to lie.  
"Sinister"  
Logan stills, Remy readies himself for a fight that doesn't come. "Makes sense"  
Remy feels Logan mulling the new information over, taking Remy's previous employment in stride. There is a not quite formed question on Logan's lips, Remy simply prepares to lie his way through the answer. Again Logan surprises him.  
"What are you planning to do, now?"  
It's not do you regret it? Or what have you done? Remy smiles. He should have know better.  
He rolls away to face Logan, the other's expression looks unreadable and open at the same time, Remy wonders how he does that and doesn't answer. They both know.  
Suddenly Logan's hands are squeezing his shoulders with an urgency that wasn't there before.  
"Come back at the School with me. Hank or one of the other damn brains will help ya"  
Logan is so earnest and there, that Remy for a minute tricks himself that, yes, he can: he can return and be welcomed and receive that kind of help that has no conditions, no drawbacks. But only for a minute, because then he remembers how questions would arise and when the truth will drag along his string of implications, Remy has no doubt that the X-Men would not be as forgiving as Logan is.  
Logan is still watching him like a hawk and Remy realizes that he cares: Logan actually gives a fuck about him. It doesn't change anything in the end, it only makes it harder. Remy looks straight in the other's eyes and lies.  
"I will consider it"  
Logan searches his face and relaxes, mistaking disregarded hopes for a solid chance. He smiles and draws him close, they have plenty of time after all, don't they? Remy lets himself being lulled back to sleep, something hot and wet presses lightly on his forehead, Remy recognizes it for a kiss before drifting off.

 

Two hours later Logan finds himself alone in the motel room. There is no note left behind.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which surprises for Logan never end.

_Three years later_  
   
Last night snow came and decided to transport Westchester in Christmas Land, metaphorically speaking: Logan remembers with dread what happened last Christmas’ Eve. Obviously the kids have decided to skip training and have started acting like a gang of jumping monkeys. Bobby is building a fort while Sharra argues if he’s cheating or not.  
Logan snorts and turns around to see what Jubes is up to, only to stare at the empty nothing behind his right shoulder. Oh, right. Something cold slips inside his cheekbones and freezes his expression in a grim smile. Right. Logan turns his back on the other’s mischiefs and goes looking for a beer. He pops the cap with a claw and sinks into the couch with a bored expression. Somewhere in his bedroom there is a letter consumed by too much reading and neatly folded at the seams. It’s a Christmas card with a photo of Jubilee smiling at the camera, an arm thrown over the shoulder of some skinny kid with grey skin and an hand-written “Merry Christmas, bub” with a little kiss print of the corner. She’s doing great, more than great actually. She writes him once a month to let him know just how cool the other kids are or how much of a bitch this Monet chick is. For someone that had to be dragged to Massachusetts kicking and screaming she surely adapted well. At least someone had to.  
Logan had never thought that he would miss Slim this much. Being part of this team, pretty much prepared Logan for everything and after what happened to Jean, he knows that everyone is expendable, but… Scott deserved better. Any X-Men deserved better than to be possessed by freaking Apocalypse and being put out like a fucking animal and Scott’s death scarred them deep, maybe too deep to make a recover possible. Jean may be the best proof of this with her denial and world trip to look for an inexistent trail of bread crumbles.  
The beer turns sour in Logan’s mouth and he forsakes it to go checking for the remote. There are new people in the team now: the Sharra kid, for example, or the Guthrie’s brat with his perpetual fish-out-of-water look. Fresh meat that doesn’t even start to cover what they had lost. Ororo, like the never ending optimist that she is, tries to make him see this as a fresh start, but fresh starts don’t suit Logan anymore. They make him feel tired and old.  
Logan finally finds the remote squeezed under one of the cushions and turns the TV on. An Hospital is burning on CNN news on what is described as a “mutant hate crime”, but what makes Logan stop and snap to attention is the energy that blips in and out between the rising flames. His colour is a familiar shade of pink.  
   
   
There are three more attacks during the next two weeks before the X-Men finally decide to do something about it.  
"How do you know it isn't him?"  
Storm looks down at him, stern and unreadable, and doesn’t stop once on his way to the Danger Room.  
"Because we have written to each other every month in the last two years and half and at the time of the first attack Remy was in Costa Rica, stealing a Picasso"  
Logan stills and the sour taste of betrayal fills his mouth, then he shrugs it off like a professional. A letter every month to Stormy and a fucking bag of nothing for him. Guess he wasn’t that important, nothing new and nothing to lose his sleep about. Not that he cares.   
"And how can you be sure that he wasn't lying about it? You know how good he is at that"  
Storm's eyes grow hard and sharp. Logan has hit a sore spot and he knows it, but he has not the energy to feel sorry about it. It's better for Ororo to wake up now than alone in a motel room without a frigging note left. Yep, still sore about it.  
Storm smiles, looking somehow sad and resolute.  
"Because that's what you do with your friends: you trust them. Even when they don’t’."  
Logan looks away and growls, accepting the defeat. The pressurised doors of the Danger Room slide open with a sucking sound and Storm looks at him with a raised eyebrow.  
"And I checked. The newspapers are calling it the theft of the century."  
Logan smirks, he loves this woman.  
   
   
 _Five weeks later_  
   
Looking for a pattern is harder than what Logan had expected. There had been two more attacks: a school in San Francisco and a church in New York. The media are desperately trying to find a name to fit the murders. Someone is targeting places where tons of people are gathered together and then unleashes hell leaving behind a trail of carbonized bodies. The casualties between humans had never been so high and the investigations dropped the hypothesis of mutant hate crimes after the second bombing. The X-Men didn’t.  
“Check this: the St. Micheal’s Church for the poor and lost was preaching about mutants being made into the image’s of God just as much as humans are.”  
The Sharra kid turns the computer’s screen to Storm for inspection. A photograph of a priest with a gentle smile flashes on the flat surface, but what catches Logan’s interest is a choir boy in the background. A choir boy with distinctive green skin.  
Storm nods to Thunderbird trying to find the energy to praise the boy for the good work, but it’s a hollow thing. Logan is sick of this. He hates sitting on his ass and doing nothing. Yesterday he threatened Bobby to kill him in the most excruciating way possible for forgetting to put back the milk in the fridge. The body count is increasing and there are too many possible targets to have any hope to precede the killers. Plural. It seems logic, since the attacks are too close to each other to be the work of a lone madman. Or maybe they have a teleporter.  
Honestly he doesn’t think that there is Lebeau behind any of this, it doesn’t seem like his style, still a lot could happen in three years and Remy’s powers weren’t exactly reliable the last time he’s seen him, maybe someone is taking advantage of it. Sinister’s name doesn’t leave Logan’s mind, but it has to agree with Storm: his involvement would be ridiculous, since there is nothing for Sinister to gain from random civilian deaths. The Morlocks weren’t exactly normal civilians, were they?  
Fuck! They are spinning into circles. He has to get out of this damn trap and do something. Logan storms out of the room, growling random threats to the X-Men general directions and goes to check his Harley. He feels useless.  
Storm finds him two hours later, elbows deep in the engine of one of the school’s cars. She silently passes him the 10 mm wrench and waits for him to finish. This, this is something that Logan know how to fix. Sometimes he wonders why people aren’t a little more like cars: resistant and fixable. He’s tired of burying friends.  
“We’ve found something”  
Logan closes the hood with a loud thud.  
“About damn time”  
Storm puts away the toolbox and tosses Logan a rag to clean his hands from grease.  
“Hank has put together a list of possible targets. We will split into different groups to keep an eye of every single one of them. Havok promised us his team help.”  
Logan retrieves a cigar from his pocket and raises both his eyebrows.  
“Do you think that it’s wise?”  
“You are not the only one who gets tired of waiting”  
He doesn’t have to say out loud how few of them are left, how dangerous splitting up would be. Ororo knows, she knows it better than most, but it will not stop her from doing what is right. Why people aren’t more like cars? Logan internally sighs and waits to light up his cigar, Storm doesn’t like the smell. What a pity.  
“Where?”  
“Orlando, ArnoldPalmerHospital for Children. They have opened a new wing for dealing with young mutants’ problematic mutations.”  
Logan whistles. Just as the World makes a step in the right direction, some lunatics try to make it do three step back.  
“Sounds like our men”  
Storm nods.  
“So does the others possible targets”  
It makes Logan sick in the stomach when someone targets kids. Sick and angry.  
“I’m going alone this time, aren’t I?”  
Storm looks unmoving and apologetic at the same time. Logan feels sorry for her: she didn’t sign for sending her team mates alone and without back up. Still among all the other fresh recruits and scarred veterans, Logan is probably the only one who can go solo and still have a solid possibility to come back alive. He knows it, she knows it. Doesn’t mean she has to like it.  
“Yes”  
Logan nods and goes upstairs to prepare his backpack. He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone, even if Hank intercepts him on his way and hugs him while Bobby slips some dick shaped candies inside his right pocket. It doesn’t count, the people he loves best aren’t there. But the candies are good.  
Storm is waiting for him when he comes back to the garage. It always manages to amaze Logan how utterly beautiful she is. She’s smiling at him, Logan gets on his bike and starts the engine.  
“Logan”  
He turns his head back to her one last time.  
“Good luck”  
Logan grins back and he’s out.  
   
   
 _Four days later_  
   
The doctor eyes his identity card with suspicion.  
“So, Mr. Grey… how can I help you?”  
“Well, sunshine, I have a nephew who could use your new department’s care. I thought to take a look before bringing him here, if you know what I mean”  
The doctor, a pretty little thing with chocolate eyes and a set of shoulder that screams ‘ _I don’t take shit from anyone_ ’, raises both her eyebrows.  
“Of course, and you obviously understand, Mr. Grey, that with all the threats that this hospital is receiving on daily basis I simply cannot let you do that”  
She gives him a winning smile.  
“Next time return with your nephew and not with a fake identity card and we will discuss this matter further. Have a nice day”  
Fuck. And here it goes his cover. Thank you very much Hank.  
“Wait!”  
The doctor pierces him with terrible eyes.  
“Listen man, I have patients who need me and if you make me lose anymore of my time I will personally kick your racist ass to the next day”  
He likes this doctor, but at the same time he wants to strangle her. Logan unsheathes the claws on his right hand. The doctor’s eyes grow large and a little afraid.  
“What’s your name, doctor?”  
She keeps looking at the broken skin between his knuckles where three large deathly weapons have barged in her daily routine. She knows this man. This is the man with the ridiculous mask that appears on the news on weekly basis along the others spandex-wearing nuts. A mutants’ sect that she has no intention to join. Or, at least, she had thought to have made it pretty clear to their bald leader five years ago.  
“Cecilia”  
“You listen to me, Cecilia. You’ve heard of the bombing on the news?”  
The doctor reluctantly nods.  
“Me and my associates have reason to think that this hospital will be the next target. I wont cause you any problem, but I need you to let me take a look around and stay in the proximity for the next couple of weeks. Can you do that?”  
Logan hopes so, he would hate to call Betsy to wipe the doctor’s mind. Cecilia is studying him with a peculiar expression. He looks treating, that he knows, but Logan has the feeling that this doctor is not one to scare easily. Still, Ororo will have his head if he doesn’t show some manners.  
“Please”  
Cecilia nods.  
“You start tomorrow morning, five o’clock. Come find me and I will have your things ready”  
Logan raises an eyebrow. The doctor crosses her arms and stares him down with a challenging look.  
“You cannot goof around my hospital for days doing nothing. Hate to dawn it on you but you kind of fail at the inconspicuous act.”  
She’s right, but Logan hadn’t expected any help. Sometimes people surprise you in positive. He growls out his thanks. She turns on her heels and marches out, then she changes her mind and turns back to face him.  
“And stop parading those things around. You’ll make my patients nervous.”  
Logan sheathes his claws with a growl.  
   
   
And that’s how he ends up working as a hospital’s janitor for two weeks. When the reception collapses on itself Logan is almost grateful. Cleaning vomit’s stains and unclog toilets are not his favourite pastimes. That Reyes gal is a sadistic piece of shit.  
Logan drops the broom and runs to the sounds of explosions to find Cecilia with everything under control, at least that’s what she’s screaming to the nurses and the other civilians trapped inside her force field. On his third day here a very freaked out girl brought in her little brother who have started leaking some sort of corrosive grease from his pores. During the night the kid became agitated, Logan held his hands until he calmed down and ended up explaining to Cecilia what an healing factor is.  
“Seriously, doc. Why mutants?”  
Cecilia had looked down in her coffee cup like it held the answers of all the secrets in the universe.  
“At first I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. Guess my life has been hard enough without becoming a crusader of lost causes, but… when my father was shoot to death no one helped him. I don’t want any kid to experience something like that”  
Cecilia reminded him of Kitty, they had the same strength in their eyes. People like them are really able to change the world.  
Now Logan runs to her side. Cecilia is sweating like a pig in a slaughter house, she’s probably not used to use her powers so extensively and she’s the only thing now to prevent the hospital to collapse on itself. Her force field is an extension of her body, she must be in a world of pain in this moment. She would have made an amazing X-Men.  
“What took you so long?”  
Logan growls and kneels next to her. Cecilia looks very close to a nervous breakdown.  
“I was talking to this man in the reception, his eyes got kind of crazy and the next thing that I know he’s shooting lasers at me and the ceiling is falling down and there’s a hole in the floor and I think that I may have killed him and...”  
“Calm down, woman. Slow breaths. In and out”  
Cecilia is crying, holding up a wall of yellow energy and still finds the power to scold him.  
“I am the one with a medical license here”  
Damn doctors and their thick heads.  
“Where did the guy go?”  
Cecilia tries to focus, but her force field is absorbing most of her strength and concentration.  
“He fell into the hole”  
Logan nods and moves to follow the bastard to make sure that he’s truly dead. Around him the nurses and the medical staff are running like crazy to evacuate every patient in the structure. Cecilia voice finds him near the edge of his fall.  
“Logan!”  
He turns around. The doctor looks pale. That bastard will pay.  
“I wasn’t able to shield everyone in time. There are people down there, please help them!”  
Logan nods, unsheathes his claws and jumps.  
   
He lands on his feet, his right knee creaks under the pressure and Logan loses his balance for a second. Everything is covered by a thick layer of dust. Logan smells the air: there are people down here. The firefighters and the medical staff could take care of them later, he, on the other hand, has a man to kill. It’s hard enough to find a trail in a hospital where the air feels sterilized and now everything tastes like bricks and concrete.  
Logan slowly inhales and something unfamiliar pierces his nostrils. What the actual fuck? It feels oily and metallic, but it’s not a machine, it feels human enough to disturb him. An android? Somehow the answer doesn’t seem right.  
Without debating the matter further, he steps on his right and follows the scent while his healing factor takes care of his twisted ankle.  
The fuck is this thing? Something new, but still… there is something strangely familiar, in it. Has he met the bastard before?  
There is a loud groan somewhere under him and Logan stops in his tracks. A bloody hand is sticking out a pile of rubble. Logan sheathes his claws and starts removing the bricks, hoping that it isn’t too late. It takes only a couple of seconds for the boy’s face to resurface. He’s young, probably in his late teens, maybe a patient. Logan doesn’t like the speed with which his blood is oozing out of one of the cuts on his neck. Shit. He presses an hand over the cut, hoping to slow the bleeding without choking the poor sap to death.  
“Hang in there, bub”  
The boy opens his eyes, but they look more like light bulbs cracked and glassed over. Maybe he’s one of the mutant kids. That would explain the green smoke oozing off the cuts on his arms and legs.  
“M…m…”  
Shit, he’s losing him. It’s weird how a stranger’s life could rest this heavily on his heart. The kid has sandy hair and an Metallica shirt and looks little and lost on the crumpled hospital floor. Logan can do nothing for him, he really should go to find the killer, if he doesn’t want anymore children to suffer from the same fate. He stays and tries to put some life back in the broken body. Maybe he’s grown soft or maybe he’s too tired of people dying over him.  
“M…mu…”  
The boy coughs, little droplets of oil starts running down his nose.  
“Don’t waste your breath and fight!”  
And then it’s like watching the lens of a camera growing into focus. Something shifts in the boy’s face as metal plates crawl under his skin and slot into piece with a sickening plop.  
“Mutant”  
Logan has barely the time to jump to the left that an energy blast cuts through the air where his head had stood. Logan rolls behind a pile of debris and unsheathes his claws. There is a loud sound of snapping similar to the cracking of broken bones and then the boy is no more. There’s a machine there, standing on broken glass, an arm reshaped in the likeness of a gun and glistening in bright pink. Guess this definitively clears Lebeau out  of suspicions. Good.  
Logan growls and lounges. A plasma blast sinks in his back and he falls on the floor.  
“Mutant”  
Fuck. Logan turns his head. The horrible caricature of a girl is approaching him from behind. How many of these fuckers are there? His healing factor is cleaning the blood out of his lungs, but it’s too late: the hot touch of a recently used gun digs into Logan’s temple.  
“Mutant prepare yourself to be cleansed”  
“Sorry, bub”  
Logan rolls over, the laser misses his head and sinks into his shoulder. With a growl he’s again on his feet. The boy looks frighteningly human in his surprise. Logan cuts his head in a single clean stroke.  
He has barely the time to feel relieved that the girl is on him. She pierces his hands with metallic spikes, making harder for him to move.  
“Mutant prepare yourself to be cleansed”  
Logan experience a strong feeling of déjà vu as another laser is pointed at him and he wonders if he would survive having his head blown up. And then the android explodes.  
Remy is here, standing on a pile of dirt and concrete, bo staff extended and a mad grin on his face.  
“Hola, cher”  
The first time he had seen Lebeau he had thought that he was beautiful and smelled like troubles. Logan has a policy to not trust people who hides behind a smile, but Storm vouched for him. He didn’t like it and it hadn’t helped that Lebeau was pretty likable. Logan hates growing fond of people he will end up killing. Funny, how things turned out.  “Come with me if you want to live”  
Logan has not the time to react, he spies with the corner of his eye the beheaded android getting up, laser pointed at Remy’s head.  
“Watch out!”  
Remy dodges the beam and Logan launches himself at the headless robot. There are more of them closing in.  
“Friends of yours? Cher, you should have told me, I’m not dressed for a party”  
And then Logan notices what Remy is wearing and nearly get his head blown up.  
“Why the fuck are you wearing a Shield uniform, bub?”  
Lebeau jumps through the battlefield throwing charged cards around.  
“What? This little thing? Long story, homme, a funny one actually”  
Logan growls and impales the nearest android with his claws. Remy’s right leg is nearly blown up by a plasma beam. How dare they come and try to harm him? That pleasure is reserved for him alone and for later. He will have some damn answers goddamnit. He tears away the android’s arm with his bare hands.  
“Sorry to intrude this display of machismo, but could you leave one of our friends intact?”  
“For what?”  
“Scientific purposes”  
Logan growls, but complies, or tries to. These things are not something to play with, pretty tough for a bunch of upgraded toasters.  
“A little help, cher? I don’t’ think they will go ‘I, Robot’ on us anytime soon.”  
It takes only but a second to Logan to slip into thinking the two of them as a team. He covers for him while Remy bends to collect some debris, charges them and launches them against their opponents. One limb or two get blown up. Logan snorts.  
“You’re doing a fucking great job at holding back right there, bub”  
Remy stops halfway through a witty retort and brings an hand to his right ear, fielding off enemies and looking like he’s listening to someone.  
“Got it. Logan they evacuated the hospital. Lets take one of our friends! They’re going to retrieve us”  
Logan stuns one of the androids with a clawed punch. Adamantium against metal? Hardly a challenge.  
“What about the others?”  
With his enhanced senses Logan overhears the voice still talking in Remy’s ears. It sounds like a woman, but Logan can’t discern what she’s actually saying.  
“No worries, homme. Ariel is going to teleport your beautiful doctor friend away and I’m pretty sure that these guys are battered enough to not last against several tonnes of concrete falling onto them”  
Logan nods and curses. Fuck. The damn thing is trying to bite his arm off.  
“Allow me”  
Lebeau leans over and touches something on the back of the android’s head. For a moment the damn thing stops then he resumes in gnawing his arm. Logan looks up with disapproval, Remy launches some charged cards against the other machines and shrugs.  
“I deactivated the autodestruction. Fury will have my head on a stick if one of these explodes on the Helicarrier again”  
Well, thank you very much for your help then. Logan growls and hopes that Remy’s new friends are better than him at handling this kind of situations. Then the ceiling starts to crumble. Remy launches at him, closing his hand around Logan’s right shoulder.  
“Two to teleport plus a guest.”  
Logan wonders if he’s referring to him or to the android. Remy grins like a kid in a candy store.  
“Ariel, beam me up!”  
Oh for God’s sake! Logan vanishes as the hospital collapses on itself.  
   
   
There is a bunch of Shield’s agents waiting for them when they arrive. An equip of overpaid scientists doesn’t waist a second to fret over him and dislodge the android from his arms. While it’s thankful for it, he doesn’t like a bit the way they’re lamenting about the poor condition of their new toy and how you cannot trust a mutant to do a man’s job, so he threatens them with his claws a little. Lebeau shushes him and the scientists look back at him with gratitude. Logan has a question ready, but he’s interrupted by the sound of angry footsteps and an equally angry voice.  
“LEBEAU!”  
Remy smiles beatifically.  
“Cherie”  
The approaching woman has short hair and even a shorter patience. Maria Hill, Fury’s right hand, is a lady that every wise man will approach with caution, but Lebeau is not a wise man.  
“You were told to not approach the hospital until we had clear read of the situation”  
Remy shrugs looking completely unapologetic.  
“I didn’t listen. I tend to do that”  
Maria groans, accustomed to the other’s antics.  
“Go with the med squad and have that shoulder bandaged, we will talk later and, Lebeau, don’t even think for an instant that there will not be consequences. You may have got lucky down there, but here is another matter at all”  
Remy rolls his eyes and winks at Logan and disappears after the medical team. Logan hadn’t even noticed he was injured.  
“Go easy on the kid. He saved my life down there”  
Which he kinda did. Without Remy his head would have probably exploded. The notion dawns on him the moment he says it out loud. Fuck. He owes the brat. Double fuck. He probably cannot punch him in the face anymore now. Maria looks at him, unimpressed.  
“Wolverine. Fury wants to talk to you”  
Logan nods and follows Hill inside the Helicarrier’s depths. Half an hour later, a can of beer in his hand and a cigar between his lips, he remembers that nightmares are real as he learns about a man named Bastion and a thing called Operation Zero Tolerance.  
   
“They’ve started up last year as the more extremist faction of a political group known as The Friends of Humanity. And they have grown both in dimension and in political support. Their leader, Bastion, is an enigma. We have no past information about him or any known alias, it looks like he has come out of thin air. We suspects him to also be some kind of android”  
Logan looks up from his beer. This is so typically Fury. He takes a cigar from his pocket and brings it to his lips.  
“Only because you don’t know shit about him?”  
“Precisely. And because Bolivar Trask is listed as his only known relative”.  
Logan mulls the information over and nearly bites off half of his cigar.  
“Sentinels. He’s building human-like Sentinels”  
Fury’s face, a blank slate where no emotion could filter, looks paler than usual, his scar sticking out like an open wound.  
“Not quite. From what we were able to gather it looks like he’s turning real, breathing people into Sentinels”  
He is several feet up in the air, still he feels like the ground is shaking under his feet.  
“The fuck is he doing?”  
Fury’s lone eye pierces him from the other side of the room. Logan feels his anger mounting.  
“And since when have you known this, Nick? Months? And you did a big bag of fucking nothing about it?! What a good little bitch you have become”  
Fury’s slams both his hands down the desk and it’s like a thunder echoing in the room and in the storm that his face has become.  
“What do you think we have done in the last five months, eh?! While you and your mutants friends were pathetically sitting down on your asses. How many men do you think I’ve already lost to this? How do you think it makes me feel that the President himself has phoned me this morning to tell me to drop anything that I have on Bastion, because the little fucker is the one funding his re-election campaign? You know nothing of me, so drop the almighty act and shut the fuck up!”  
Logan unsheathes his claws. The blood is boiling in his head, hot piercing anger clouds his judgement. This is the beast, not him. Logan notices it and sobers up. Fury is still a dickhead though.  
“Why these attacks? Why not being more subtle and not risk a government’s intervention?”  
Fury is back to his cold self as if his precedent outburst hadn’t happen.  
“Experiments, I think. These Sentinels are conceived as sleeping agents, activated when a mutant is identified. Bastion probably wants to see them in action, before unleashing them around the world. You and your X-Men noticed only the attacks reported by the news, but we discovered several more: blitzes with limited damages on humans or properties. I think that is Bastion’s true objective while the bombing is a result of malfunctioning prototypes or a mean to foment the ever-present mutant hysteria”  
Logan nods. It makes sense.  
“The sentinel that we have captured…”  
The girl with red head, the one that he had impaled without a second thought, the one that was barely eighteen. Fury shrugs.  
“Officially the Shield is out of the equation. We will provide you and your X-Men with every information our scientist will be able to extract”  
Okay. Seems fair. And that brings Logan to his other question.  
“Gambit?”  
Fury raises an eyebrow.  
“You mean Agent Lebeau?”  
Logan growls, he hates when people play dumb with him.  
“Yes. Shit, Nick, what the fuck?! He’s not Shield’s material”  
Fury smiles obliquely.  
“Well, you’re not superhero’s material either. Ironic, don’t you think?”  
Logan has to swallow a retort. He’s man enough to admit when he’s defeated.  
“His powers?”  
He asks. Fury looks at him questioning, Logan elaborates.  
“Does he control them, now?”  
It’s probably a breach of trust on his part, but Logan is not a stupid man. Remy was a mess three years ago and willing to jump through hoops to get the tiniest bit of control on his life back. He could be Sinister, Bastion or another mad scientist’s favourite pawn, for all he knows. Fury is not a stupid man, but the stakes are too high to take any risks and Logan has zero tolerance for traitors too.  
Fury studies him, lights up a cigar of his own and brings it to his lips.  
“Now he does”  
There is something going on here, Logan is not sure that he likes it and he’s not a man so easy to satisfy.  
“How?”  
Fury takes a long drag of his cigar. The thick smell fills the room once again.  
“Let’s say that his blood is so full of nannities that it puts your adamantium bones to shame”  
Logan nods, his throat feels dry. Fuck. The air is a little to thick for his taste. He wants to take a piss and then go straight for the deck. Fury takes note of his reactions and fills them up somewhere on his mind.  
“Take a night off. I’ll call you tomorrow once we’ve made some progress on the Sentinel you’ve brought in.”  
Logan nods and turns away. Fury’s voice finds him on the doorstep.  
“Tell Lebeau he has the night off, too. Sleep it over, Wolverine”  
Logan closes the door on Fury’s face.  
   
   
He finds Remy wandering through the deck, an unlit cigarette between his hands.  
“You need a light?”  
Remy smiles and turns around to face him.  
“Nah, I’ve quitted ages ago, but I find kind of relaxing having one of these babies between my fingers”  
Apart for a different coat, Remy is wearing the same uniform from before. It looks strange on him. Alien.  
“Because then you can break your word any given moment”  
Remy grins. His eyes are sharp and challenging.  
“Precisely”  
Logan huffs and rests his back against the wall. Fuck, he’s not here to start a fight. There are enough enemies out there and maybe it’s time for him to bury the hatchet and look for a friend. Fuck. He’s awful at this.  
“So, the Shield, eh”  
Remy groans and hides his face behind his hands, recognising Logan’s effort to reach out for what it is.  
“I’m more of a freelancer”  
“You seems to have a badge and too much of the fancy shits for a freelancer, gumbo”  
Remy sighs and shakes his head in defeat. His hair are shorter than three years ago, Logan wonders if it’s military mandated or just the Cajun finally realizing how hazardous are long hair in a fight. Maybe a mix of the two.  
Remy is watching him like he’s suddenly become bored of all the situation and Logan remembers how infuriating this kid can be.  
“Just what do you want, Logan?”  
And Logan is angry, yes, because he had let this kid get under his skin. He considered him one of his fucking people, goddamnit! Logan wants to punch him in his pretty face, but he reels that impulse in. The bastard will just dodge it. Still, Lebeau will not go to his marry ways without giving him an explanation.  
“What’s the difference between us and Fury?”  
Remy smiles like he’s forcing a forgotten muscle to cooperate.  
“Fury isn’t my friend”  
And Logan stills, anger slowly dimming from his face as the implications of Remy’s words settle in. He is too old to dance to this song, he just wants to go back home. Then he remembers that home now is a familiar place filled by strangers’ faces.  
“Come back, gumbo”  
Remy looks at him, red on black eyes piercing through his skin and reading his very soul. His expression grows harder.  
“Logan I don’t know what you’ve lost in the last three years, but I’m not your personal pet project”  
Logan grunts and smacks Lebeau on the back of his head. Sometime the kid has the sharpest of the minds and thickest of the heads.  
“It ain’t like that”  
Remy rolls his eyes and starts rubbing where Logan has hit him.  
“Ouch. Cher… what the fuck?!”  
Logan doesn’t listen to him and crosses his arms instead.  
“We both have the night off. And since you owe me, you’re going to take me somewhere nice.”  
Fury pretty much implied that they should fuck their problems out. Fuck him, they won’t. Thanks a lot. Lebeau is pretty, but it’s simply not worth the stress.  
Remy smiles back at him, but looks torn. Logan raises an eyebrow.  
“But if you had other plans…”  
Remy quickly shakes his head and smirks.  
“Nah, it’s nothing. But I don’t think that the both of us are properly dressed for the places I could take you out”  
Logan makes to reply, but then Remy adds.  
“How about my place instead?”  
                                                          
   
   
Remy’s apartment is a concoction of old and new and both are dressed for Christmas. There is a big bold and very gold wreath hanged on the door and a motherfucking huge three that takes up half of the living room all by itself.  
“Feeling the holiday’s spirit, gumbo?”  
Remy snorts out loud and closes the door behind him.  
“What about some eggnog, mounsieur le Grinch?”  
Logan rolls his eyes and fights back a smile. It’s hard to stay reasonably angry when there are more flashy and, oh, so very Christmassy decorations here than in an aisle at Wallmart. Speaking of which, better pay attention to…  
“Mistletoe!”  
Remy smirks and Logan desperately wants to facepalm. The Cajun and his damn obsession to stick his tongue inside every possible throat before hitting the thirties. Maybe he should punch him or maybe he should stand on his toes. Something hot and wet presses on his forehead and goes away with a loud pop.  
Remy winks at him and gestures Logan to follow him in the kitchen. Logan grunts and curses at himself for getting flustered about such a simple thing as a forehead kiss. In all those weeks spent looking for their little robotic friends and working as a janitor he hadn’t had the time to get laid once.  
“Beer, soda, pepsi or a glass of wine?”  
Remy’s face is buried in the fridge. Logan can’t help but stare at his ass. Damn. He’s got to get laid, but not with this one. This one isn’t worth the trouble.  
“You mentioned eggnog”  
Remy doesn’t look up from his less than convenient position. Logan growls and distracts himself by studying the furniture. The kitchen looks nice, not as gaudy as the living room and strangely modern: everything in here is a combination of new and well cared, with the air of imperfection that accompanies every object much used. It looks like a breathing animal, a place where someone lives in and not simply exists between jobs. It’s kinda scary and reassuring at the same time.  
“Sorry, I lied, I do that. Would you like some hot coffee instead?”  
Logan grunts, Remy takes that as a yes and puts the coffeepot on the stove, adding some very seasonal biscuits as a bonus to kill time before the coffee is ready. Logan studies his plate with a raised eyebrow.  
“Why I have Santa’s hats and you the Christmas’ threes?”  
Logan tries a testing bite, then proceeds to wolf them down like a starving man. Damn, they’re good. Logan eyes the cookie’s jar with grim determination, Remy smirks.  
“Do you really have to ask, cher?”  
Remy winks, Logan chokes on his biscuit. The coffeepot starts to whistle and Remy brews the coffee in two small cups. Logan grabs it with more force than necessary.  
“Fuck, Lebeau!”  
“Glad that you caught my drift”  
Logan goes for a punch in the shoulder, Remy dodges it laughing. Somehow it’s like the time hasn’t passed, it’s reassuring and familiar. Only when it’s not.  
“I miss the accent”  
Remy smirks and sets his cup back on the tabletop.  
“Really, and here this Cajun though’ that you only like’ him for his body, cher”  
Logan manages this time to push the damn brat in the shoulder. Remy wavers a little and misses a step.  
“True, still missing it though”  
Remy smiles and picks his coffee up.  
“I’ve grown a little out of it, I suppose, with going undercover for months and all that jazz. Maria thinks that it’s an improvement, says I look less like an uncultured swine.”  
Remy looks lost in thought, probably planning some mischiefs and scheduling a quick stop to the Big Easy to get back that part of him, if only to annoy the Hill more. Logan grunts and gulps his coffee down. Fuck, it’s hot.  
“There’s at least something you don’t know how to fake?”  
Logan wants to snatch the words back in the moment that they live his mouth. Remy’s smile becomes a little broader and a little faker. He’s clamming down like a fucking oyster and Logan curses at himself. Remy smirks with an eyebrow raised.  
“My charming personality”  
Logan grunts in acknowledgement and finishes his drink, letting the scorching brew ignite his throat and warm up his heart.  
 “Well… I always kind of liked it, just so that you know”  
Remy doesn’t say anything, but Logan can see some tension lifting from his shoulders and counts that as a victory.  
They finish their drinks in silence, then, after disposing of the used cups, Remy grabs a bag of chips and two cold beers from the fridge.  
“Wanna crush on the couch?”  
Logan takes his beer with a shrug and follows the damn brat back in the living room. He snatches the remote as he sees it, Remy rises both his hands in mock surrender. Good boy. There must be an hockey game somewhere. Logan turns the television on and is met with the Powerpuff Girls’ intro. Cartoon Network, seriously? He quickly changes the default channel and looks at Remy. The other smirks and opens the chips’ bag with a cracking sound. Logan decides to not inquire further and quickly skips from a trash reality show to another. Fuck. More than an hundred channels and nothing to watch. On National Geographic a lioness is closing down on a gazelle. Logan sets for it, lowers the volume and takes two long gulps of his beer. He finishes it in no time and stands up to go looking for another, making himself at home. Damn, Remy’s fridge is stocked. There are way more vegetables here than he had expected, that’s for sure. After a couple of minutes Logan finds a can of beer hidden behind strawberry flavoured yogurt and cheese. He takes another disbelieving glance at the traitorous provisions and returns to the couch. The lioness on the screen is having a real party.  
“Never thought I’ve got to see it”  
Remy glances up, questioning. Logan sits down, the couch bends a little over his weight.  
“All this shit… if I didn’t know ya better I could think that you’ve become an honest man”  
Remy sighs dramatically and takes a long swig at his beer with a faraway expression.  
"Everythin' I do it's Shield's business, now. I'm clean as a newborn baby"  
Remy has the most peculiar expression on his face: something between disgust and, well, disgust, like his own life is for him a constant source of disbelieving stupor. Logan grins, he knows that feeling too, but he have never pledged Lebeau to fall for that kind of trick. Well, at least not completely.  
"So, I guess that Fury really needed to redecorate."  
Remy blinks at him uncomprehending, Logan mouths “Picasso” and watches as realization makes its way through Lebeau’s face lighting up his eyes with mischief.  
"Would you believe me if I told ya that there was a secret alien transcription engraved on the frame?"  
Logan takes a moment to consider it.  
"No"  
Remy grins back at him and he finds himself smiling back. Remy throws his right arm over Logan's shoulder and draws close, a conspiratorial look in his eyes.  
"Wise man right here. Let's say that I get Fury's bullshit done and he turns a blind eye on what this Cajun does in his spare time"  
Logan grunts and bends over to steal some chips. Remy makes an offended sound but moves the bag near him. Good boy.  
“Who’s the gal in the photos?”  
Remy turns a little to see which photo Logan is pointing at. He doesn’t know why he asked. Maybe because she is beautiful or maybe because that version of Remy standing next to her looks so fucking young.  
“My ex-wife”  
Logan whistles. He has never pledged Lebeau for the marrying type.  
“Did you get her pregnant?”  
Remy stiffens beside him. Looks like he ended up in a mine field. Shit, he’s intrigued, maybe a little too much, he should change topic.  
“No”  
Logan should really drop it now if he doesn’t want his beer to turn sour in his mouth, but he has learnt more about the Cajun’s past in the last minutes than in months of fighting back to back. So what? Until Remy wont tell him to fuck off, he will keep the questions coming.  
“Did you love her?”  
Remy doesn’t hesitate this time.  
“Yes”  
Lebeau is smiling a tender smile. It’s not one of his usual grins, it’s something soft and fragile: something precious. He has never looked so beautiful.  
“Why did you two break up”  
Remy looks away and his smile turns sardonic. Logan actually feels relieved: he doesn’t know the stranger in the photograph, the Remy who is in love with this woman. He knows the man he has become without her. Logan prefers him this way: broken things have a virtue, they have been broken by someone else. Lebeau has the heart of a good man deep down, even if a little cracked around the edges and Logan kind of likes him the way it is.  
"You can say that it was Romeo and Juliet thing. We were too young and got a bunch of people killed"  
He notices too late how close they’ve ended up, how Remy’s breath tastes like malt and something that it’s purely him. It’s intoxicating. Remy notices their proximity and readies himself to say something witty. Logan kisses the grin out of his face stunning him into silence. For a couple of second at least, then Remy expression turns mischievous and Logan decides that he doesn’t care. Fuck it. It’s been long enough and it looks like the Cajun is not running from himself this time around. Remy’s hands slips into his hair, Logan smirks and mimics the other. Not to mention that it’s not easy to get rid off of someone who knows where you live. Remy’s lips are soft and a little cracked, Logan slips his tongue between them and his mouth fills up with the other’s taste. The couch dips further as more weight is added to a single spot. He can feel Remy climbing on top of him to get a better leverage. Logan slips his hands under the other’s jacket and curses at the thickness of the Shield’s uniform under it. Where is the zipper of this damn thing? Remy doesn’t share the same setback and has no trouble in finding skin to claim, massage, mark. Logan groans.  
“Be quiet, cher, walls are thin and it’s not like I soundproofed every room except fo’ the bedroom”  
Logan smirks, nose hidden in the other’s jacket and more than a little drunk with the strong scent of spices and recklessness.  
“Fuck the neighbours”  
Remy smiles and disentangle himself from Logan’s grip.  
“Nice thought, mon coeur. But it’s not of the neighbours that I’m worried about.”  
Logan sobers up, little pieces click into place like an apartment too big for a single person or two socks hanged over the fireplace. There are two names written on the gifts’ cards under the Christmas three and no place for him here. Remy puts an hand on his shoulder to prevent him from moving and rolls his eyes with a bored expression.  
“It ain’t like that”  
Logan scoffs and shoves the hand away, but he doesn’t let it go closing one of his own around the other’s wrist, rubbing lightly the thin skin above the vein.  
“Ya sure?”  
Remy smiles, inches away from Logan’s mouth.  
“Positive”  
“Good”  
Logan closes the distance and lets himself being pulled in a long kiss. They stay like this for a while, but it’s different, more awkward. Remy is the first to pull away.  
“How about you and me get out of these dirty clothes and take a long hot shower, neh?”  
The offer is tempting, but it’s the fond gentleness in Remy’s eyes that breaks the last of Logan’s resistances. He smiles gruffly.  
“Sounds like a plan”  
Remy smiles back and helps Logan up.  
“Good”  
   
Remy’s bedroom is like everything else in his apartment: fucking huge. Still it’s sort of minimalist with the bed and the wardrobe taking most of the space. There is a picture on the wall, Logan doesn’t know who the artist is, but it’s good and in a soothing shade of blue. At least it’s not bright pink. There is a photograph on the nightstand, but Remy distracts him before he’s able to figure out who is depicted there.  
“This way”  
Logan grunts and follows the other’s instruction. The bathroom is nice and the shower looks like something that belongs to an health spa with two water sprays and enough space to fit three adults. Logan discards his abused clothes in a corner of the room. Then he thinks better of it and folds them in an uneven pile next to the toilet. He has manners for God’s sake. Can’t say the same for the Cajun. Remy deposits the clean towels on the cabinet next to the sink and practically jumps out of his clothes and, considering the logistic of wearing spandex all day, the easiness with which he does it is kind of amazing. Logan doesn’t let the little strip show impress him and meets the Cajun’s eyes with raised eyebrows. Remy shrugs it off nonchalantly.  
“I’ll clean them tomorrow”  
Yeah, sure. With a last sceptical look Logan enters the shower and stills as ice cold water pours down on him. This is nothing. Once he ran naked in the wildness during winter with wolves as his only companions. Cold doesn’t scare him: it’s his element. Fuck. When will the thermostat kick in? He could feel his balls freezing, for fuck sake. And Lebeau, the damn bastard, knows it, with the way is smiling like the fucking Cheshire Cat. Logan grinds his teeth and refuses to give him the satisfaction to get a reaction out of him. It takes only a couple of seconds for the water to become warmer, a little more for it to fill the air with the tiny fog of condensation, a little less for Lebeau to join him under the double sprays.  
“Took ya long enough”    
Lebeau is still smiling that enigmatic smile of his when he bends over and kisses him lightly on the lips. Logan closes his eyes and lets the other have his wicked ways with him.  
Surprisingly enough they don’t jump each other’s bones the moment that their lips met. When the scalding hot water hits his skin the true weight of the fatigues of the day sets in. He has done worse in worse condition, but lately tiredness have found its way deep down his bones and Logan doesn’t trust himself to not slip and fall on his ass. He feels old. Remy pours some shampoo in his hair and begins rubbing small circles on Logan’s scalp. It’s kinda relaxing and he lets out a satisfied moan. Remy’s hands moves from his hair to his neck and torso, massaging away stress and something else that soap can’t normally cleanse. After a couple of minutes Logan starts to feel like world’s peace is possible after all and looks for a sponge to return the favour. Remy notices it and stops his ministrations. He hands him the soap and starts to wash his own hair. The Cajun is to damn tall for him after all and having him to kneel down will go against their purpose here. Logan starts his massage moving the drenched sponge in gentle circles between his shoulder blades. Remy sighs as some pent-up tension leaves his body. Damn, the kid is a bundle of knotted nerves. Logan decides to discard the soap and to take the matter on his own hands, literally. Remy’s shoulders grow tense as his fingertips dips into them, but the Cajun relaxes in a matter of seconds with a content moan. Logan smiles a little proud of himself. There are scars on Remy’s back, probably more on the other side. Those are new and Logan studies them, digs into them and adds their shape to his memories. Logan doesn’t scar, not on the surface, his healing factor prevents him from it. Scars fascinates him: for a man without memory they could sure tell a lot about his owner. There are long, uneven lines that looks like the aftermath of a serious whipping, they make Logan’s blood boil, he refrains from asking to not spoil the mood. Remy has probably a fucking sixth sense when it come to this kind of things, because he turns and looks down on Logan with an appeasing look and smirks.  
“Man, you should see my family’s dinners”  
Logan grunts in unsatisfied acknowledgement and goes to reprise his previous actions. Remy moves away from him with an apologetic smile and rinses his hair under the spray. He playfully splashes some water in Logan’s eyes, he growls back not angry at all and he proceeds to do the same. Remy gasps affronted and turns the spray against Logan’s face. Damn it. Castration could be a fitting punishment for this. Remy keeps on laughing even when Logan crashes against him, making the both of them slip and fall back against the floor. Thank God this shower is fucking huge. The spray has fallen from Remy’s hands and squirts water at them from an awkward angle. Something bubbles up in his stomach and Logan laughs at Remy face with carefree abandon. It takes only a couple of seconds for their position to become uncomfortable and they help each other up with a mischievous smile, failing and falling against each other at least three solid times before managing to get out from the shower.    
   
The tile floor is slippery under his feet as Logan drips more water onto it.  
“Logan, catch!”  
Something soft lands on his head, covering his nose and eyes. He grabs the towel and starts rubbing it in his short hair collecting some of the moist and water, before using it to dry his body in different areas. Lebeau disappears through the door, Logan moves to follow him and gets his ass slapped as the result.  
Remy is grinning at him.  
“Towel fight!”  
He’s the bastard joking? A second slap is the only answer that Logan needs: this is war. He launches at Remy, the bastard dares to dodge and hits him again. Logan growls and tries to block any escape route as he closes on Remy. The bastard is fast. Logan aims and finally lands an hit on Remy’s uninjured shoulder. Lebeau squeaks and tries to make Logan trip on himself as revenge. Not so easy gumbo.  
Logan avoids the petty trap, considers his surroundings and opts for a new strategy. He cannot beat the Cajun in mobility and he has the advantage to play at home, but his overconfidence could be his own downfall. They circle each other until Logan notices where Remy is standing and lounges. Remy takes a step back and the back of his legs met the bed, making him falter and lose balance. Lebeau lands on the mattress with a surprised huff. Logan follows suit and lays his head near the laughing Cajun. Man, he hadn’t had this much fun in ages. Remy rolls over and gets on his elbows, nose hovering over Logan’s one. He is smiling. Logan brings an hand to the other cheek and smiles back.  
“I should be angry with you”  
Remy’s eyes are a pool of something that Logan hasn’t quite a grasp on. He’s man enough to admit that he likes this man. This is not simply attraction, he really likes him. He wants to know more about him, befriends him. Logan quite likes the person he becomes around him: more young, less loaded, the troubles of the day still there but less heavy on his shoulders. Logan moves a strand of damp hair over Remy’s left ear.  
“I’m sorry”  
But he sounds no sorry at all. Logan raises his head a little, while Remy leans down. They meet in their kiss halfway.  
   
   
  
“I thought that you’ve quitted with it”  
Remy turns in his direction, head resting against the headboard. The bitter scent of the cigarette between his hands mixes up with the thick smell of sweat and sex.    
“Special occasions only”  
He’s a special occasion then, good to know. Logan rolls over to face the white ceiling, his healing factor already taking care of any soreness in his back. He doesn’t remember the last time that getting fucked has felt this good. He feels content. And sleepy. Logan snaps both eyes open. He will not permit his body to be lulled into sleep, in spite of what has transpired in the last hours, Logan is a stranger in this house and he won’t overstay his welcome.  
“Please, stay”  
Logan feels his body relax as a weight he didn’t know was there is lifted from his shoulders. Somehow the sleepiness from before evades him. Logan rolls to the side and eyes the tiny bracelet on Remy’s left wrist. Remy follows his line of sight and shrugs.  
“It helps me regulate the level of nannities in my blood”  
Logan nods, he has already surmised so.  
“How does it feel?”  
Remy smiles sardonically.  
“Strange, I think. But ways better than letting someone carve out pieces of mah brain”  
So that’s what happened last time. Logan grunts, well he had always thought that the Cajun was a little touched in the head. Remy laughs a little. Oh, seems like he has said it out loud. Well, damn. Logan brings Remy’s hands to his lips and kisses the tip of his fingers softly. Remy shivers, Logan smiles.  
“How’s Jubes doing in Massachusetts?”  
And obviously Remy has to ruin the moment with talking.  
“Great. I guess it’s nice not having an old man to hold you back”  
Remy smiles and doesn’t contest the old thing, the bastard. His smile turns serious as he looks down at Logan.  
“I’m sorry for Scott”  
Logan nods and doesn’t say anything for a long minute. His throat feels suddenly tight.  
“I feel like everything is slipping from my fingers despite how strong my grip is”  
He doesn’t know why he has said it. Maybe after months spent running, now everything is catching up with him. It’s not simply Scott, or Jubes or the fucking Bastion with his fucked up Sentinels. People always come and go in his life. This Zero Tolerance is nothing new compared to some things he’s seen in his long years. It’s just that he’s tired. Tired of tables turning on him, of getting used to new sets of rules and to new people. He has thought to have finally found a home with the X-Men, but after Charles, Kitty, Jean, Jubes, Rogue and Scott… What’s a home without people in it?   
Remy eyes him with the strangest expression. It’s not pity: he’s looking at him like someone who has spent most of his life trying to answer the same question.  
"You canno' prevent things from changin', homme. It's just not worth the effort”  
Remy smiles softly at him, an emotion mirrored by his eyes.  
“Sometimes they even change for the bette', neh"  
No. Logan’s life experience assures him that they don’t.  
"And when they do for the worse?"  
Remy takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks away.  
"You adapt"  
They lay there for a while, Logan drifts between awake and deep slumber for most of the night. The nightmares are always able to catch up with him for how much he tries to outrun them, but this time there is an half-asleep and very much annoyed voice to grumble.  
“Go back to sleep, homme”  
And maybe it’s the tiredness the follows very amazing sex, or maybe it’s the reassuring presence of an hand over his hearth, but Logan does and this time the nightmare doesn’t follow.  
He wakes up four hours later and alone. Deja vu and all the fucking jazz, but this time there is a folded pile of clean clothes on the chair next to the bed with a note: “get decent”.  
Logan smiles obliquely: since when has Lebeau become such a prude? Logan slips into the slightly too long jeans and grey shirt kindly offered by his host. These are clearly not Remy’s size. Where the fuck did Lebeau conjure them? Not like he cares. Logan opens the doors and hears the distinctive sounds of a kitchen being abused as his nose fills up with the delicious smell of pancakes freshly made. Logan forgets all about the clothes, mind occupied by more pressing matters.  
He’s already in the living room before beginning to notice that there is something very wrong. He smells it, seconds before hearing the stranger’s voice. Logan unsheathes his claws. Remy’s scent doesn’t let any distress on, but experience has thought him to always err on the side of caution. Logan makes less noise as possible as he enters the kitchen.  
There is a kid there, a girl with shocking pink hair. It says something about Logan's lifestyle that he notices the hair first and not the bones sticking out from the girl's face. Stranger things has happened. The girl looks at him with curiosity, then turns to Remy and shocks Logan into silence.  
"Daddy, who is he?"  
Oh.  
   
   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to strangle myself now.  
> I try to stick to continuity when possible, even when, given how much tangled the X-Men timeline is, it’s kind of impossible. Luckily for me, Gambit left the X-team creating a butterfly effect that altered the continuity as we know it so that some things happens earlier (like Neil Sharra) or not at all (like Onslaught). My sister asked me about the Scott/Apocalypse thing, so maybe I should add that I’m referring to that time when Scott, to prevent Cable to share this fate, became Apocalypse’s host. He died and Jean was so distraught and in denial that he searched for him all around the world.  
> Ah, and I know that Bastion is technically the fusion between Nimrod and Master Mold, but Master Mold was created by Bolivar Trask so I think that it makes sense to list him as a relative of sort.  
> I started writing this chapter the moment I’ve finished the last one. My original plan was for “Small places” to be a one-shot, but I think that that open ending felt a little sloppy.

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t write porn  
> I can’t write  
> I can’t  
> I  
> I'm thinking about writing more


End file.
